Wasteland

Jack pulled a large hunting knife from under the table. She assumed he had it sheathed in his boot. She had no reason to believe he was going to threaten her with it, so when he started cutting the steak , she waited patently for him to push her half toward her.

"Did ya sleep well?" He asked her in polite conversation.

Glancing up, she nodded with a mouth full of meat

"Good. Glad t' hear it. So," he mulled over a bite mid thought. "Might ya be stayin' by a while?"

"I might. A day or two. I've nowhere perticular t' be." She answered.

She expected him to go on trying to convince her to stay or to finish breakfast in silence. For a time that was what he did. She ate and watched him eat with the slowness of a man who worries not from where his next meal might come. Egor moved like a ghost in and out of the kitchen, the squeaking hinges the only proof of his existence. Once he flittered up the stairs with two smaller platters and left one in each of the two rooms. When he came back down he had a cheese cloth sack in hand. The clink of caps could be heard within it's beige constructs. This sparked her own question and she swallowed a half chewed bite to ask it.

"Do they never leave their rooms?"

Her dusty blue eyes held him intently. Little bits of food clung to the corners of her mouth making her look like an orphan who'd gotten caught stealing from the kitchen. Curiosity was as plan on her face as the crumbs she was unaware sullied her features. She took another bite as she waited for his reply.

"They do, mostly t' warsh or use the pot. Sometimes, if the price be paid, they leave fer business beyond these walls." He answered.

"Have they e'er not returned?"

"On occasion. Raiders, beasts or the waste takes 'em 'fer they make it back. Shameful loss, that."

"You don't think they just stayed away?" She cocked a brow at him. She wondered if the loss of the woman or the loss of her profits was the collateral he was referring to.

"Eh, I s'pose a few might've, but it'd be a foolish thang t' do. They got all they need h're."

"So ya jus' give it t' 'em? What 'bout them caps?" She pressed.

"Ain't ya an observant 'en." He scoffed. "I give 'em their needs an' they give the johns their's, fer caps. They keep some an' pay fer rent t' do business h'er and fer the provisions. It's a perfessional venture." He shrugged.

"What happens if they can't make rent?"

She knew the question might be a testing one, but he didn't flinch and didn't seem to mind her inquiries. Perhaps he was patient because he wanted her to stay, or perhaps it was because he longed for sober conversation. Either way he replied calmly as if they were discussing the unchanging weather.

"They find ways." He paused, eyeing her for a moment, then added, "Not like ye did fer ye'rn."

She averted her eyes, the luxury of shame suddenly available. The heat of it reddened her ears and put a blush in her cheeks. The man spoke after a time, as if he enjoyed the sight of her flushed discomfort.

"Th're are some things can only be bought with caps. The merchants can't barter fer the goods they bring wit' pleasurable experiences."

He grinned at her as if this was a jest, though he spoke the truth. She still didn't have a clear answer, but she relented. The answer was probably not one she wanted to know. Those were likely the times they were sent out to find other sources of income. Her thoughts wandered to the man himself. He sat across from her, nearly finished with his meal. Her own half of the steak was gone and she'd picked at the fruit. Fullness had not cramped her stomach in a long while and she began to feel ill from the affect. Never the less, the attempted to ignore the discomfort in order to glen more information from the situation.

"How did ya come t' own this place an' run the town?" She asked, fixing her eyes on his as they continued to glow with the rising sun.

"That be a longer tale than time." He said. "An' ye don't look t' me t' be in a state t' he'r it. Why don' ya go lie down fer a spell. I'll come up after while t' check on ye."

It sounded like a kind suggestion, but she got the feeling it wasn't. There were no commanding tones in his voice or aggressive posture. His eyes remained sharp, but gentle. She could find to evidence to support her uneasiness, but that didn't stop her from experiencing it. Perhaps she was nervous about his intention to 'check on' her. If she was still ill, another exchange of needs would not bode well. With a sigh and a stab of pain from her over-full stomach, she pushed away from the table and followed the trail in the dust that lead up the stairs to the bar keep's room. She could smell the meals provided the evening ladies from beyond the wood of their doors. The sweet and sour of fried Iguana-on-a-stick didn't help the cramp in her mid section. The key was quick to find her fingers when she searched her pocket. The door unlocked with it's usual click, then locked back behind her. The key went back into the pocket and she crossed the room to the wardrobe. Taking the pip boy from her jacket pocket, she slipped her feet out of her boots. She opened on of the dewars and carefully placed the gadget inside. Next to it she neatly folded her jacket and denims and on top of that her goggles. She wouldn't need them and it was too warm in the room for much clothing. The lack of it helped ease her stomach pains.

Easing herself onto the bed, she lay on her side with her back to the blinding sun. The rays cast her shadow on the opposite wall, a long, slender silhouette of the body she inhabited. She couldn't say she missed searching for shelter or an empty stomach. So long as she was never expecting to start earning caps, she could see herself staying here... for a while. Meandering thoughts of fantasies living in safety with no worries of food, or shelter or attacking aggressors lulled her to sleep with the help of satisfied hunger.